It's All Just a Blur
by TheAnonymousBlogger
Summary: On the way to a case Sherlock and John are in a car crash that lands them in hospital.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own ****anything.**

**I hope you enjoy this! There will be more chapters soon I promise! :)**

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"John, we are going out. New case!" Sherlock called as he charged into the apartment, having only just returned from tying up the loose ends of their last case. John groaned; he was actually hoping for a quiet day catching up on the housework and getting some shopping done but no, Sherlock seemed to have made other plans for him. Again.

Within five minutes John found himself seated in the back of a taxi with absolutely no idea where he was headed, but as this was not uncommon he merely shrugged his shoulders and turned to watch the colours of London's busy streets blur together as they careered past. It was not until they had been driving for at least ten minutes in a direction that was completely unrecognizable to John that he thought he should maybe actually try to ask Sherlock the where-a-bouts of their next case.

"Erm Sherlock, where exactly are we going?" Sherlock, who was currently busy texting, grunted something about a warehouse before ignoring John completely.

"…Great so you can have real conversations with me when I'm not there but as soon as I am here you just ignore me, excellent."

Five minutes passed, then ten, and then fifteen and they still hadn't reached the warehouse making John slightly suspicious. Just as he was about to voice his concern to Sherlock he turned back to his window and out of the corner of his eye saw a large metal truck, seemingly out of control, speeding towards them… and not stopping.

It all happened so fast; John screamed Sherlock's name, Sherlock finally looked up and saw the arising danger and then it hit. There was the sickening crunch of metal hitting metal, the screeching of tyres and brakes and then the pain. Oh the pain. It hurt. Hurt like hell. Help.

* * *

When John screamed his name Sherlock had to admit that he thought John was going a bit far – if he had something important to talk about (which Sherlock seriously doubted) he should have just told him and if it was _really_ important then he should of told Sherlock persistently because that would have finally got his attention, but screaming, well that seemed to be going a little far.

"What J- oh!" Okay maybe in this situation the screaming was necessary. Oh dear.

For Sherlock it all happened so slow; he calculated that he had less then ten seconds before the truck struck the front of the taxi and then another five before it swung round and collided with Johns door, with enough force that it would fling the taxi sidewards into the unsuspecting grey car travelling in the opposite direction to them (single female, recently broken up, on her way home from a stressful job, possibly - _no wait, this doesn't matter, THINK SHERLOCK!_). The angle that the truck will hit Johns door will unfortunately mean there is absolutely no chance of John escaping injury, or himself for that matter, but the woman in the grey car should escape with minor problems. There needs to be an ambulance to the scene as soon as possible to help the taxi driver who will have taken most of the blow, and himself and John, so his best bet would be to call Lestrade – he'll know what to do. Just as the call connected Sherlock felt the impact of the lorry hitting the door. He heard someone screaming his name and then someone screaming help, wait, was that him? He really didn't know, and that, along with the pain of smashed glass and bent metal digging into his side was enough to make him panic. He noticed the blood and it all became too much. The quickly approaching darkness welcomed him and he felt himself slipping almost too easily into its welcoming arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! I really hope you like it!**

**Sorry for any medical inaccuracies, I have absolutely no medical knowledge whats so ever!  
**

**Enjoy! :)**

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Before John even opened his eyes he knew he was in hospital. Granted it had taken him at least ten minutes to work it out but he'd got there eventually. It was the constant beeping of the heart rate monitor and the plastic oxygen nasal cannula that had finally given it away, along with the incredible amount of pain he was in, and not to mention the replaying memory of the crash in his mind. Damn, it had been a bad crash, the worst he had ever been in by far and that, for some reason, made him almost too scared to open his eyes. He could feel the pain and it didn't feel _too _bad, not in comparison to being shot that is, but you can never be too sure. To be truthful John was just a little bit scared, scared of what he would see when he opened his eyes and not just of his own injuries but also Sherlock's.

"I know you're awake you know," John's thoughts were forgotten; that was Sherlock's voice, "you've actually been awake for fifteen minutes and 23 seconds. What exactly are you doing in there?"

John grinned and finally let his eyes slip open. There was Sherlock in the bed next to him, looking at him with an enquiring expression that only made John want to grin some more.

"In where exactly?"

"Your head."

"Thinking."

"Hmm okay."

John looked Sherlock up and down and gasped, "you've broken your leg!" Sherlock's eyes momentarily flicked towards the cast obscuring the lower part of his left leg and grimaced. "It's not too bad, not as bad as-"

"AHH ow!"

"-Your broken collar bone."

At that moment John had tried to raise himself from the flat position he had been lying in and had failed as an immense amount of pain had hit him. He groaned, now ten times paler in the face than he had been before, and turned his head back to face Sherlock.

"That hurt." His previously cheery voice had become rather resigned, "what else have I hurt? I do not want to do that again."

"You have concussion, a broken collar bone, three broken ribs and two bruised. You also had surgery on your collarbone because the bone was overlapping and they placed a metal plate and two pins in it." Sherlock reeled off the diagnosis like he had memorised it word for word, which he probably had.

"Great," John replied sarcastically, feeling slightly relieved that it wasn't as serious as it could have been but even so it was still going to take an age to recover from. "And what about you?"

"I have also got concussion but apart from that it's only really the broken leg and lots of bruises."

"Aren't we a pair hey?" This pulled a small smile across Sherlock's otherwise serious face and John felt himself visibly relax. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while just listening to the beeps of the monitors around them until a nurse hurried in.

"Oh Dr Watson, you're awake! Mr Holmes I told you to call me as soon as he woke up," she scolded Sherlock playfully before rushing over to fuss about removing the heart rate monitor and various tubes from John. "I'm very sorry Dr Watson but I will not be able to remove the oxygen just yet because of some minor technicalities – doctors orders!" And with that she bustled back out the room. John merely stared after her retreating figure with a confused look on his face. He raised his non-injured arm to his face and fingered the tubes running over his cheeks and into his nose, "minor technicalities?" He grunted feeling slightly put out by the nurses lack of detail.

"I know, I already asked when you were still out and that's all they said to me. I tried to annoy them into telling me but that didn't work either," Sherlock cut in, a funny look flitting across his face as he said it.

"Blimey, how on earth did they put up with that? I so wished I had seen that!"

"You woke up two days too late for that."

"_Two_ days?"

"That's what I said John."

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"But it was only Monday…"

Another silence fell in the room as John processed the thought that he had lost almost three days to unconsciousness. He heard a small sigh coming from the bed Sherlock was occupying and turned to see him awkwardly fidgeting with his thin white duvet.

"Are you okay Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, "yes fine just fine," he rambled.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes… well, erm John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Please don't do that again."

"Do what?"

"Scare me."

John now too felt a strong blush run into his cheeks. He had never before heard Sherlock voice how he was feeling and for him to be openly admitting that he cared for John was definitely a shock.

"I won't, I promise."

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**There will be another chapter up soon - I'm still planning what will come next. I hope you liked it! :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wooo next chapter done! Sorry yet again if anything in this chapter is completely inaccurate or wrong medical wise because i have no idea! **

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! :) **

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"Hahahaha oh my gosh! That is hilarious! Oh my…" John broke down into another fit of laughter unable to control himself. "I'm sorry… ahem… right okay so you're telling me that you can't be discharged yet because you, the great Sherlock Holmes, can't use crutches?" Sherlock scowled feeling humiliated. He had just been wheeled back into his and John's shared hospital room after his physical therapy session and at John's questioning face towards the wheelchair the nurse had politely explained the situation to John before quickly excusing herself from the room. Sherlock wheeled himself towards the window in their room and glared out of it wishing pain on each and every one of London's occupants. Why did this have to happen to him? He could speak seven languages, read the life of a person just by looking at them and run across rooftops like he was going for a jog in the park but for some strange unknown reason he was unable to use a simple pair of crutches. He snarled, _simple_ was the word the nurse used to describe crutches, they were simple and he couldn't use them. Eurgh.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice cautiously called from behind him but Sherlock determinedly ignored it. He was not going to give John the satisfaction of admitting he had a weakness so instead he just sat there in complete silence watching the world go by. An hour passed and slowly Sherlock heard Johns breathing even out behind him signaling that he had fallen asleep.

Sherlock turned the wheelchair and looked over at John's peaceful form. He hadn't looked at John properly since the crash and he noted how the bandages covering his ribs and shoulder were visible below the thin sheets, how the tubes running across his cheeks and into his nose made him look small and vulnerable and how very un-John like he looked right now. Vulnerable was a word Sherlock had never dreamed he'd use to describe John and yet here it fit perfectly. He let the word roll over his tongue, each syllable sounding foreign and out of place and yet it was in place; it fit. He watched the rise and fall of Johns chest and slowly felt it's steady rhythm overcome him as his own breathing rate slowed to mirror it and soon he too was fast asleep, stooping over in the uncomfortable chair.

* * *

The next morning dawned all too quickly for both Sherlock and John; it was the day when they were expecting a visit from the doctor and although neither of them admitted it, they where both feeling rather nervous.

"Dr Watson, Mr Holmes," the doctor said as he entered the room, turning to face each of them in turn, "I have some good news and some not so good news, but not bad all the same."

"Get on with it," Sherlock quipped from his bed – he was still not in the best of moods from the whole crutches debacle and to top that off he now had a stiff neck from the way he had slept. John shot him a glare and invited the doctor to carry on.

"Well firstly I would like to apologise for the lack of communication before now. I have heard from the nurses that you were quite eager to get some news but we were not able to supply the answers to your questions until we received the results back from different tests that we ran-"

"What tests?" It was John who interrupted this time.

"Oh just standard ones that we do upon a visitors arrival. Anyway there was a slight mishap in the lab, hence the prolonged amount of time for answers, but thankfully everything is all sorted now. You'll be pleased to know Mr Holmes that your results were all clear and you will be discharged later today."

The doctor paused and offered a nervous smile towards Sherlock who nodded before shifting his position so that he was sat up closer to the doctor, "and what about John?"

The doctor now turned to John. "Well as I'm sure you're aware Dr Watson, you were on the side of the car that received the most impact and upon this impact you were thrown forwards and trapped in a bent over position beneath the folded-in door. This and the fact that your ribs had been broken meant that breathing was quite hard and by the time the fire crew was able to pull you out you had been breathing irregularly for at least fifteen minutes. The tests have revealed that your blood contained at least 20% less oxygen than it should have and so to make sure you have not or do not receive any brain damage we have decided that we need to continue to monitor your oxygen intake."

John nodded unsure how to take the news, "how long for?"

"I think we would like to monitor you in here for at least a week more and if everything goes to plan you should be able to leave soon after."

John sighed, a whole week longer stuck in this room was going to be hard especially without Sherlock there to keep him company anymore but he knew it was for the best so he accepted the news gracefully and thanked the doctor as he left. As soon as the door closed behind him Sherlock spoke up, "I'm sorry John. Are you okay?"

"Yes 'm fine." He lied absentmindedly rubbing the irritated skin between his nose and was surprised when he heard Sherlock scrambling around pulling himself into his wheelchair.

"What're you doing?"

"Making you feel better, NURSE!" Sherlock yelled as he jammed his finger on the call button, "Nurse bring me a pair of crutches!"

The nurse did as she was asked and hurried in with a pair set to Sherlock's height, obviously the ones he had failed in using the day before. John creased his brow still feeling confused, "I don't get it."

Just then Sherlock heaved himself from the chair so that he was standing on his right leg, he slipped his arms through the rings of the crutches and grasped the handles in a death grip. John grinned; he got it now. Slowly (and very wobbly) Sherlock began to make his way around the room doing the most awkward hop John had ever seen. He couldn't help it - a big grin spread across his face as he burst out laughing, unable to contain himself at the sight of the worlds only consulting detective failing at using a simple pair of crutches. That was certainly something you did _not_ see every day!


	4. Chapter 4

**And the next chapter is done at last, phew! **

**Sorry it took longer than the others but anyway, I ****hope you enjoy it! :) **

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_John - SH_

_John - SH_

_John - SH _

_What Sherlock? - JW_

_Can you come home now? - SH_

_No it's still Tuesday. - JW_

_Please. - SH _

_I would if I could trust me. - JW_

_I'm bored. - SH_

_Annoy someone else then like Lestrade. - JW _

_Thanks for your concern. - SH_

_I'm the one that's sat in a hospital. - JW_

_It's not a competition John. - SH_

_I would win if it was. - JW _

_Well I am in a hospital too. - SH_

_Oh dear, what have you done now?! - JW_

_Nothing, calm down. - SH_

_So what are you doing then? - JW_

"Coming to see you what else?" Sherlock said as his head of unruly curls appeared around the door to John's room, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Honestly do you try to worry me on purpose?" John asked feeling pleasantly surprised by Sherlock's unplanned arrival.

"It's nice to see you too John. So how is everything?"

"Boring, unbelievably boring."

"I thought as much, which is why I am going to break you out." Sherlock said seriously as he limped across the room on his crutches (he had finally managed to get the hang of them, almost) and collapsed into the single chair by John's bedside.

"I'm in a hospital Sherlock, not prison."

"You are more useful to me at home."

"Is this your way of saying 'oh John I miss you terribly and life at Baker Street feels so wrong without you'?" John asked playfully.

"If you like, anyway I was being serious."

"I worried as much." John sighed grinning. This was so typically Sherlock and although all of his doctorly instincts were screaming at him about how much of a bad idea this was he wanted nothing more than to feel the rush of adrenalin again and get back out onto the streets of London. "So what's the plan?"

"In exactly 16 minutes from now there is a shift changed for all the nurses on this ward. This will create a distraction for us because they will be too busy passing on patient updates to notice minor problems i.e. one of their patients making a break for it. The nurse's station is approximately 12 metres along the right of this corridor where as the door to get out, albeit the longer route is only 5 metres to the left of this corridor. I will go down the corridor to the right and accidently fall over on my crutches next to the nurse's station and as luck should have it I can see myself falling into one of the emergency buttons for the larger ward next door. As soon as the nurses are hurrying about making sure I and the patients occupying next doors ward are all okay you will make you way down the corridor to the left, through the doors and find your way all the way to the smaller side doors of the hospital where you will wait outside for me. We will then call a taxi and you, Dear John, will be free."

"And what about all of this?" John asked gesturing towards the machines that he was still annoyingly hooked up to.

"Easy, the oxygen is portable and light enough for you to carry even with your broken ribs and collar bone. The heart rate monitor can be wired to act as normal for approximately four and half minutes - plenty of time for you to get out, and the drip can be easily removed although you may want to do that bit yourself."

"Brilliant." John breathed already feeling the excitement begin to flow through his veins, "although the chances of you falling on your crutches by accident is more likely than you doing it accidently on purpose," he teased.

Sherlock just scowled and began fiddling with the heart rate monitor; "I'm trying to help you here, if you want I could just leave."

"No!" John exclaimed, "Dear me no, I need to get out!"

"Well that's sorted then, we have 10 minutes before we go so you may want to think about getting dressed." When John didn't move Sherlock looked up with questioning eyes, "you don't need help with that do you?"

"No, no," John insisted a little too quickly causing a blush to appear on his cheeks, "well I may need help with my shirt but that is it." He blushed even more as he choked out the last few words, feeling more than just embarrassed. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation and just stood up in order to help John. Slowly (that was the only speed at which John's ribs permitted him to move at the moment) he helped John pull a t-shirt and thick knitted jumper over his head and heavily bandaged shoulder. Sherlock then sat down to fiddle with the heart rate monitors' wires while John pulled his trousers, socks and shoes on.

* * *

It was time to go; Sherlock limped off down the corridor to the right feeling confident. He rounded the corner, looking back once to make sure John was still waiting in his room for the signal to go, and stopped right in his tracks; Mycroft was stood by the nurse's station. How had he not expected this, of course Mycroft would know. He inwardly kicked himself and grumbled, scanning the room for possible alternative plans – the open window, _no they're on the tenth floor_, the cleaner's cupboard with uniform and equipment in, _way too obvious, _the lift, _too noisy and will take them to a different nurses station. _Sherlock sighed, there was no hope but to carry on with the original plan and just pray and hope for the best that Mycroft didn't do too much meddling and ruin it for them.

Artfully Sherlock stumbled in a convincing way, dropping a crutch to the floor and following suit. He gasped as he hit the floor, half from real pain and half to create a scene and reached up with his hand as though to grasp something. Instead his hands slipped and _whoops _hit the emergency buttons. An alarm bell sounded from inside the ward and the office and there was a sudden flurry of activity as nurses began running around. It was comical really, or would have been had Sherlock not been busy making sure he caused as much trouble as possible; there were pieces of paper flying into the air, lights flashing and in the midst of it all stood Mycroft, as still as a statue with a slightly tighter grip on his umbrella than normal.

Gradually the ward quieted down again and the nurses returned back to their station relieved. Sherlock was sat in a wheelchair with a cup of water in his hand, playing the victim, while Mycroft towered over him.

"I know you did that on purpose." Mycroft scolded.

"I don't know what you mean brother." Sherlock retorted more out of spite than of actually trying to fool Mycroft.

"And I know why you did it."

"What are you going to do about it then? Tell the nurses?"

"You could have just asked me to remove John." Mycroft pointed out purposefully belittling Sherlock.

"As you can see we did quite well without your help, in fact I do believe we would be doing better without your help so I would be most delighted if you would just piss off Mycroft." Sherlock replied angrily, emphasising the end of the sentence.

"And what will they do when they notice the disappearance of a certain Dr John Watson?"

"Fine, fine, okay you will intercede and tell them to forget about it. Shall I thank you now and be done with it?" Sherlock was mutinous; he hated losing to Mycroft and if there was one thing worse than that it was getting help off Mycroft, both of which was happening right now. In the background he heard the noise of another alarm going off - his time was up. He wheeled himself away as fast as possible and found John sat outside the exit on an old bench. He gave a startled look as Sherlock approached, "what's happened? Why are you in a wheelchair again?"

"Just keeping up with the part John." He said as he heaved himself out of the chair and back onto his unstable crutches. Now that he was back in John's presence he felt the anger seep out of him and the excitement and adrenalin from before take its place. A taxi pulled up along the curb beside them and Sherlock hopped over opening the door, "a taxi for Dr Watson?" He said mimicking the voice of a chauffeur.

"That'll be me." John chuckled as he got in, "Baker Street please," he called forward, "at last."


End file.
